Danger from the Past
by joy4957
Summary: Someone from Hardcastle's past might be bringing more than just happy memories.
1. Chapter 1

Mark McCormick paused to swipe at his sweaty brow, leaning on the lawn mower a moment to view the expanse of sparkling ocean just beyond the cliff. It was a sight that never failed to ground him and make him smile. His eyes tracked a pair of seagulls swooping low over the splashing waves. He sighed, wishing he could be down there on the beach enjoying the beautiful day too. It was unusually hot, and while the cooling breeze off the ocean helped a little, it wasn't enough to keep him from wishing there weren't more shade in the yard.

"McCormick! Stop your daydreaming and get back to work!" Hardcastle's grumpy voice bellowed at him from across the expanse of lawn.

Mark grinned, approaching him. "Even Tonto needs a little break when mowing the back forty," he returned. "Besides, I've got to refuel the lawn mower. Anyway, what's the hurry?"

Hardcastle harrumphed. "There are lots of chores to do, and no time to lollygag! You know that Aunt Zora and Aunt May will be visiting in two days. I'd like you to finish as much of your chores as possible before they get here."

Mark's eyes grew distant. "I can't wait to see them. I wonder if Aunt Zora will make her apple cobbler."

"Yeah, you just like them to visit because they spoil you," Hardcastle retorted.

Mark shrugged. "Nothing wrong with that! It's not like YOU spoil me!"

Hardcastle fought a smile. "You don't have it so bad here! Anyway, I want things to look really nice when they arrive. That means you need to finish the lawn, trim the hedges, plant those two rose bushes, do the laundry –"

Mark sighed and ran a hand through his curly hair. "Yeah, yeah, my work is never done."

Hardcastle eyed him more closely, taking in his flushed cheeks. "Maybe you'd better take a break and get something to drink before you tackle the rest of the lawn," he relented gruffly. "You don't want to get overheated."

Mark smiled inwardly. "Aww, Judge, I didn't know you cared!" he teased, entering the main house along with Hardcastle and heading for the kitchen.

"I don't care!" Hardcastle growled unconvincingly. "I just don't wanna have to hire new help to take care of your chores if you keel over in the heat!"

"Uh huh," Mark agreed amiably. After draining some cold, refreshing water, he wandered into the den. "I have to pick up some fertilizer for the new rose bushes and need to use the truck. Were you planning on going out?"

"No, I'm just working on stuff around here for the next few hours," Hardcastle replied, grimacing at the bills spread out on the mahogany desk. "I think I'll –" He was interrupted by the jangling of the phone.

"Yeah, Hardcastle," he answered. "Oh, Aunt Zora! Mark and I were just talking about you. We're looking forward –" he stopped, then frowned. Concerned, Mark edged closer.

"Well, how bad is it? Oh, okay. No, I understand. Yeah, we'll be disappointed not to see you but … okay, we'll do that. In the meantime, you and Aunt May take care, okay? All right then, talk with you soon."

"What happened?" Mark asked anxiously. "Is everyone okay?"

"Yeah. Well, my cousin Fred was cleaning out their gutters and fell off the ladder. He broke his ankle, and Aunt Zora said she and Aunt May were going to stay home and take care of him. So they have to postpone their visit."

"Oh, sorry to hear that. I was really looking forward to seeing them." Mark cocked his head, his eyes sparkling mischievously. "Hmm, guess that means the pressure is off for some of those chores …"

Hardcastle gave him a pointed look. "Nice try, sport, but no. You still need to finish them. And I think –" this time he was interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell. Rising, Hardcastle muttered, "Wonder who that could be," and went to answer it, Mark trailing behind him.

The Judge opened the door to reveal a young man, about 35 years old, standing there. The visitor, casually dressed in chinos and a polo shirt, had smooth blond hair and a ready smile. "Hi, Mr. H!" he greeted the judge effusively.

While Mark stared, curious, Hardcastle drew in a breath and then grinned widely. "Matt! Great to see you! Come on in!" He clapped an arm around the young man's shoulder, drawing him inside. He led him to the den, and Mark followed, wondering who this guy was.

"How are you? What have you been up to? I haven't seen you since –" Hardcastle stopped abruptly, looking uncomfortable.

Matt nodded with an understanding smile. "Since my dad's funeral," he finished softly. "It's okay, Mr. H, that was five years ago. At least he and mom are together again."

"Five years already?" Hardcastle mused. "It seems like just yesterday …" He shook himself and continued, "Well, anyway, you look great. And you're old enough now, I think – call me Milt."

"Oh, I couldn't do that! I have so much respect for you and calling you Mr. H is just such a familiar way to address you, like I used to," Matt said in such a cloying way that Mark unconsciously rubbed his stomach, thinking, _I may just lose my cookies_ …

Hardcastle, however, was beaming. "Alright then. I want to hear all about what's been happening over the past few years."

Mark cleared his throat meaningfully, and Hardcastle shot him a look, suddenly realizing he was there. "Oh, sorry, let me do the introductions. Mark, this is Matt Hollins, who was one of Tommy's best friends when they were kids. Matt, this is Mark McCormick. He … ah, helps me with projects and things around the estate."

Mark held out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Matt. So, you were friends with his son?"

Matt returned the handshake, but Mark noted that he let go almost immediately and surreptitiously wiped his hand on his pants. Frowning slightly, Mark sank onto the leather chair, eying him speculatively, content for the moment just to observe. For some reason his radar was on high alert.

Matt had turned back to the judge with a laugh. "I practically lived here, didn't I, Mr. H?"

Hardcastle gave a wistful smile. "Yeah, you and Tommy were thick as thieves for a while there." He stepped behind his desk and sat down, waving Matt to the sofa. "So tell me, what brings you here? I thought you were living on the East Coast now."

Matt nodded. "I am. I live in Miami. I'd originally gone to New York, but I missed the ocean. I work for an export company and am doing well. I've been overdue for some vacation time and didn't know how to spend the 10 days I have off. Then I thought it would be nice to come back to my old stomping grounds." He eyed the den, then looked back at Hardcastle. "This hasn't changed! For which I am very grateful …"

Hardcastle grinned broadly. "Well, it's good to see you. Say, where are you staying?"

Matt shrugged casually, but Mark, so attuned to playacting by others, felt it was contrived. "Oh, I'll just find a local hotel. Didn't make any reservations but figured I would be able to land somewhere with no problem. I just drove here from the airport."

"Well, you should stay here," Hardcastle offered immediately.

"Oh, no, I couldn't impose, sir," Matt demurred (half-heartedly, it seemed to Mark).

"Nonsense! No reason you should pay to stay in a hotel. There's plenty of room here. It will give us a chance to catch up, too."

"Well, if you're sure …"

Hardcastle clapped his hands, standing. "Then it's settled. Now, are you hungry? What am I saying? You were always hungry! You and Tommy could eat Nancy and I out of house and home …"

Matt stood as well. "Well, I wouldn't say no to one of your famous grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches!"

Hardcastle grinned. "Coming right up!" He glanced back at Mark. "Okay, McCormick, your break is over. Get back to work!" And with that he led Matt to the kitchen.

Mark sighed and pushed himself to his feet. Something felt off. He shook his head. That was silly, he only just met the guy. And if he'd been best friends with Hardcastle's son, he must be okay. Still … with another sigh, he headed outside.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Over the next few days, Mark noticed disturbing changes. From the day he arrived, Matt and Hardcastle had been practically inseparable, laughing, sharing memories, going through Tommy's high school yearbook. Mark understood, of course, there was a connection to Tommy through Matt, and Hardcastle could relive some of those wonderful times. Still, it felt to Mark as if Matt was trying a bit too hard to ingratiate himself into the household. And for some reason he seemed to avoid spending any time with Mark, talking with him, or even acknowledging him if possible.

On the first night after Matt's arrival, Mark found his place in the den usurped when he went to make popcorn for his nightly John Wayne movie with Hardcastle. When he returned to the den with a full bowl, Matt was sitting in Mark's usual spot, making some comment to the judge about how he remembered how much Hardcastle loved the old movies and would make him and Tommy sit and watch them. When Mark would make one of his usual asides about some scene in the movie, Matt would hush him, telling him to be quiet so he could enjoy the movie. Hardcastle didn't seem inclined to let Matt know that the running commentary is what he and Mark always did, and Mark felt deflated. After the first hour, Mark said he was tired and wandered off to the Gatehouse.

The next morning Mark awoke to the familiar sound of the basketball being bounced outside the Gatehouse, and he headed outside, only to find Matt there too. Citing an old football injury (_how cliché_, Mark thought sourly), Matt noted that he couldn't play the hard guerrilla basketball that Milt and Mark did, so Hardcastle toned down the play to a much tamer version. If Matt still "accidently" managed to elbow Mark in the stomach or stomp on his foot, well … it was, after all, a contact sport, as Hardcastle reminded him, although Mark couldn't help but note that it occurred with some frequency and never to the judge. After a few mornings of this, Mark found ways to get working on his chores very early, thereby missing the sessions.

Even mealtimes were a bit tense, because when Mark would start prodding Hardcase about something in their usual squabbling way, Matt would shoot him a quelling look or chastise him about showing some respect. The judge, thinking Matt was only kidding, would tease Mark about how he should "watch his mouth," which seemed only to reinforce Matt's opinion that Mark was overstepping his bounds.

The only time Mark could relax was when Matt would leave the estate for a few hours, saying that he wanted to catch up with some friends, visit some old haunts, or even do a little business.

Little did Mark know that Hardcastle, too, was beginning to tire of Matt's visit. Oh, he was pleasant, and it was great to be able to chat about Tommy and recall fond memories, but Hardcastle wasn't really one to live in the past, and after they had run through a bunch of old recollections, he was ready to move on to more current things, and this was not a common ground that he and Matt shared. Hardcastle had also noticed the strain between Mark and Matt, although he didn't understand it. And he missed the guerrilla ball and typical bickering with McCormick. Still, he felt he owed Matt something, who at one time had been such a presence in his son's life. Well, it would be only another week or so and he'd move on and things at Gulls Way would settle back to normal.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Matt had been at the estate for four days, and Mark was counting the days until he left, although six more days of this seemed like an eternity. This morning, Mark was making breakfast when Matt wandered into the kitchen.

"Oh, hey, good morning," Mark said, pulling plates out of the cupboard.

Matt merely grunted and reached for the newspaper. Mark tried again. "Blueberry pancakes for breakfast today," he said. "And we'll be eating out on the patio."

Without a word Matt headed outside. Mark followed him, plates and utensils in hand, and placed them on the table as Matt sat down. "What's your problem?" Mark asked sharply.

Matt gave him a disdainful look. "I don't particularly like to get chummy with the hired help," he sniffed.

"Hired help?" Mark repeated angrily. "That's not the situation here. The judge and I –"

"You're nothing but a parasite. You just live off of him in this amazing estate. You have run of the place and act like you belong here, and you mouth off to him with no respect. Doing pretty good for an ex-con, aren't you?" Matt sneered.

Mark's eyes widened. He drew a deep breath before answering. "Yeah, I'm pretty lucky to have someone like the judge provide me with this opportunity and making this my home. But he and I are partners, working together to do some good things. You have no idea of our personal relationship and aren't in a position to judge that. And how do you know I was in prison?"

"I heard things," Matt replied, giving Mark a cold stare. "And I want you to know that I'm going to keep an eye on you. You shouldn't be here, and I'm not going to let you take advantage of Mr. H. I'll make him see you for what you are and get you kicked out of here."

Mark could feel his blood pressure skyrocket, but before he could respond, he heard Matt say pleasantly, "Good morning, Mr. H!"

Mark turned to see the judge entering the patio. Hardcastle began, "Good morning! It's a nice –" he stopped, sensing the tension and seeing the set look on Mark's face. "Is something wrong?"

Mark swallowed hard. He shot a quick look at Matt, then forced a weak smile as he looked back at Hardcastle. "No, Judge, everything's okay. I'd better get working on those pancakes." With that he hastily made his way back to the kitchen.

Hardcastle stared after him before returning his gaze to Matt, who was casually perusing the newspaper. "What happened?" Hardcastle demanded.

"Happened? Nothing. Oh, well, maybe McCormick and I had a little disagreement about something, but it's really nothing. I think he knows where things stand now."

Hardcastle's eyes narrowed. "Where things stand now?" he echoed gruffly. "And what does that mean?"

Matt sighed and put down the paper. "I am just looking out for you, Mr. H. You've done so much for me, welcoming me into your home. I don't want McCormick to take advantage of you. The way he walks around here like he owns the place, and the way he talks to you – well, anyway, I let him know he's just an employee and that I was watching him."

Hardcastle was shocked. "Now look, Matt, I appreciate your concern, but you are way off base here. Mark is more than an 'employee.' He and I are a team and we've become good friends, and this is his home. He has every right to act comfortably here. I want you to treat him with the respect he deserves."

"But he's an ex-con," Matt protested.

"And he's done his time and turned his life around," Hardcastle returned firmly, pale blue eyes glinting. "I brought him into this household, and I trust him."

Matt subsided. "Okay, sorry, Mr. H. I did mean well. I just wanted to look after you the way Tommy would." _There, that will smooth things over_, he thought with an inward smile.

Hardcastle looked a little startled at the mention of his son's name. "Oh … well, no harm done, I guess."

"Good," Matt said. He'd have to rethink things a little. He didn't like McCormick, who was a threat to his plans to ingratiate himself enough with the old judge so that maybe he'd find himself living here at this amazing estate. _Hmm_, he thought, _getting rid of the ex-con was going to be harder than he expected_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Later that morning, Hardcastle and Mark visited with Frank, who had asked them to come in and sign some statements on a bust they had worked together on recently. Entering Frank's office, Mark breezily sank down on a chair, one leg looped over the arm of it.

"Hey, Milt, Mark," Frank greeted them. "Thanks for coming in."

"No problem," Hardcastle responded.

"Yeah, gave me a break from the hedges," Mark added. "And from being the only one doing work around the estate while someone else is chatting about the good old days for hours …" 

"Good old days?" Frank repeated with a puzzled frown.

Hardcastle shot Mark an exasperated look. "Oh, he's just sore because we have a house visitor, an old friend of Tommy's who is staying with us for a few days. They don't really get along. I think McCormick is just jealous."

"Jealous? Of Matt? Not likely," Mark returned hotly. "It's just that he's sloppy and leaves a mess everywhere. I mean, is it so hard to put the dishes in the sink? And then he eats _everything_. Geez, I bought a pound of sliced ham a few days ago and when I went to make a sandwich yesterday it was down to two slices. Two! And because he's too delicate, morning basketball has been reduced to kiddie play time –"

"Oh, it's not that bad!" Hardcastle interrupted. "You just don't like having competition. If you'd just open up a little, you might learn something from him –"

"About what? How to eat your host out of a month's worth of groceries in a week? How to conveniently forget your wallet when you go out to dinner and make your host pay? How to leave wet towels sitting on the bathroom floor? How to –"

A shrill whistle suddenly stopped them both. Frank gave them a stern look. "Both of you, calm down! Now, I called you down here for a reason, not to hear you bickering at each other. Can we please get down to business?"

Mark bit his lip. "Sorry, Frank," he said sheepishly, subsiding back onto the chair.

"Yeah, Frank, sorry," Hardcastle muttered, shooting one more glare at Mark before sitting down himself.

Frank nodded and handed them both some documents. "Read them over carefully and indicate any needed changes, then sign it."

A few moments of silence prevailed as both Mark and the Judge read through their statements, neither one finding anything that needed to be changed. Handing over the signed documents back to Frank, Hardcastle gave him a long look. Frank looked preoccupied and discouraged.

"Okay, Frank, so what's bothering you?" Hardcastle asked.

Frank shrugged and rubbed his eyes wearily. "Well, since you asked … there's word on the street that a new drug player is in the area with a new drug that is very dangerous. We're trying to pull out all the stops to get a handle on this quickly. But you know the drug world … no one wants to talk and everyone wants a piece of the action." He looked at Hardcastle consideringly. "I know, Milt, that you recently were looking at the file on Sammy Porter, who you sent to prison back in '78 and is now back out on the street. He might know something about this."

Hardcastle scratched his nose with a sigh. "Yeah, I heard he might be back to dealing again. Thought maybe McCormick could go undercover and see if he could find his supplier, but we haven't gotten that far yet."

Frank nodded, his face grim. "Well, I don't think we can wait too long. Seems the drug trade has really escalated in the past couple weeks. Two kids from the local high school overdosed on the new drug, and we've had three deaths from known drug users as well, with another currently in critical condition at the hospital and not expected to make it. It's very potent and we need to stop the supply now before anyone else is affected. We've already set up a task force."

Mark sat up straighter. "That's awful. What is this drug?"

"Well, it's still being analyzed, but it appears it's a derivative of heroin, but much stronger. Word is that it's called "MP," for magic powder. Creates a high very quickly. But as it's new, people don't understand how strong it is, so they are likely to use the same amount as they normally would for other drugs, and that's far more than they can do with this one without suffering serious consequences. Less than a teaspoon can give someone heart palpitations, raise their blood pressure, and cause a cardiac event."

Hardcastle gave a heavy sigh. "Wish I understood why people want to use drugs in the first place. How can we help, Frank?"

Frank smiled. "Thanks for the offer. Sit tight for now. We don't want to interfere with anything that is being done. I'll check with the task force and see if there's something you can help with."

On the drive back to Gulls Way, Hardcastle slanted a look at Mark, who was strangely silent, staring out at the coastline. "Something on your mind, kiddo?"

Mark opened his mouth, then closed it, unsure he could state his concerns without offending Hardcastle. The judge looked at him in mild amusement, witnessing a sight he not often saw – Mark at a loss for words. He coughed and said, "Matt told me what he said to you this morning. He had no right to say those things to you, kiddo. I just want you to know that I set him straight."

Mark exhaled slowly. "Thanks, Judge," he said quietly. He gazed at the passing scenery for a few moments, then asked hesitantly, "How well do you know Matt?"

Hardcastle pursed his lips in thought. "Well, he and Tommy met in kindergarten, and he was Tommy's friend for about 10 years. They were pretty close, and he was always over at our estate. God, I can still see them out there, throwing a football or playing in the pool or getting into some kind of mischief …" His voice drifted as a wistful smile tilted his lips, but then he shook himself and cleared his throat before continuing. "His father worked for an investment strategy firm, and he'd been doing pretty well – they had a fairly large estate a couple miles away – but the place eventually went bankrupt because of an embezzlement scandal and the family lost most of its money. It was a hard time for them. It's not easy going from a comfortable lifestyle to one where you're barely scraping by."

"Yeah, I can see where that would be difficult," Mark murmured. "How did Matt cope with that?"

"Not too well at first. He was a good kid, but he started slacking off at school and associating with some troublemakers and being a bit rebellious – you know, acting out. Guess he needed an outlet for his frustrations." Hardcastle sighed. "He and Tommy kinda drifted apart a bit then; Tommy didn't like what Matt was doing and who he was hanging out with. And then the family had to move away, shortly after the boys graduated from high school. Far as I know, they didn't keep in touch much after that."

Mark nodded. "Makes sense. Did Matt get in any … ah, real trouble?" He tried to ask that casually, but as usual, the judge was quick to pick up on the nuance.

Hardcastle frowned and shot him a hard look. "Why the third degree?" he asked sharply.

Mark thought fast. "No third degree, Judge, just curiosity. I just thought he and I might have more in common than I initially thought."

"More in common … you mean jail?" Hardcastle's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Look, sport, he had some tough times, and he did get in with the wrong crowd for a while, but he straightened things out and is doing really well now."

"No, I meant that he struggled a bit when he was younger, and had some bad influences around him, and I just wondered if that was kinda like me," Mark returned hastily, hoping he sounded sincere, even as he was telling himself, _No way Matt didn't get into real trouble, that guy has former con written all over him_. But he couldn't say that to the Judge, at least not yet, not until he had some proof.

"Oh." Hardcastle relaxed and sent him a rueful look. "Sorry, kiddo. Jumped the gun there. Yeah, I guess maybe you two are a little alike in some ways."

"Forget it," Mark mumbled, sinking deeper into his seat. He felt bad that the judge was apologizing for a conclusion he wasn't wrong about.

"Look, I know it's been a little hard having him there all the time, and you two haven't exactly been best buddies, but it's only for a few more days, and then he'll be gone and we'll get things back to normal."

"Like guerrilla basketball and John Wayne movie nights?" Mark grinned.

Hardcastle smiled back. "Yeah …"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The next day Mark went into town to run some errands but also to visit Lieutenant Harper.

"Hi, Frank," Mark said quietly as he entered Frank's office.

Frank looked up in surprise with a smile. "Well, hi, Mark! What brings you around?"

Mark sank onto the chair by the desk. "Oh, nothing much. Just thought I'd stop by and say hi and see what's going on …"

Frank sat back in his chair, eyes narrowing as he studied Mark. "Okay, what's up?" When Mark opened his mouth to protest, Frank held up a forestalling hand. "C'mon now, I've seen people look happier at a tax audit. Is there a problem with Milt?"

Mark shrugged, restlessly picking at a piece of paper on the desk, his eyes downcast. "No … well, yes … well, not really a problem …"

Frank sighed heavily. "For goodness sake, just spit it out!"

Mark raised his eyes, fixing his troubled gaze on Frank. "Sorry, Frank. I don't mean to be mysterious. I just … something feels off, and I can't quite put my finger on it."

"Hmm." Frank looked at Mark speculatively. "Does this by any chance have anything to do with your current house guest?"

Mark straightened, his eyes flashing. "Well, yeah. I just –" He stood and began to pace. "It's not like he's actually done anything wrong, but something doesn't feel right. I don't trust him."

"And what does Milt say?"

"Well, we haven't talked about it, but I think that according to him, everything is wonderful. I mean, I get that he enjoys the memories they share, but I think he believes the sun rises and sets on Matt. They play basketball and watch movies together and he spends all his time with him …"

Frank arched an eyebrow. "Are you a little jealous, Mark? Maybe feeling a bit left out?"

Mark shrugged uncomfortably. "Maybe. I mean, since Matt arrived, the judge and I have hardly spent two minutes together, and my only role seems to be listening to them reminisce or working and staying out of their way. But it's more than that, Frank. There's just something about Matt that I don't trust. And this may be hard for me to explain properly, but once you've done time and been in prison, your senses are heightened somehow. You get a feel when someone is playing a con. And you can recognize when someone else has done time, too." He stopped pacing, placing his hands on Frank's desk, and looked at him earnestly. "Frank, I'm telling you, that man has been in prison at some point. And maybe he is just trying to recapture some of his youth by visiting with Hardcase, but I think there's something more here. I think he's after something, or into something. I just don't know what."

"Are you sure this isn't just that you just resent his taking your time from Milt?" Frank asked gently. "I mean, has he done anything specific to arouse your suspicions?"

Mark shook his head. "No, but as I said, it's just a really strong feeling. And believe me, when you've been in prison, you learn to trust your instincts. You have to, if you want to survive." He bit his lip and looked at Frank somberly. "Look, I know I'm not explaining this correctly, and of course there's a chance that everything is fine and I'm just frustrated by Matt, but my alarm has been going off since he walked in the door. I can't just ignore it."

Frank frowned. "Well, then, I think you should talk to Milt –"

"No!" Mark interrupted swiftly. "Look, like you, he'll probably think this is just jealousy. And I don't want to do any damage if Matt really is on the up and up. I was hoping maybe you could just do a little checking on him, just between us." He gave a wan smile. "If you don't find anything, then I'll stay quiet and just wait out Matt's visit and Hardcase will be none the wiser. But if you DO find something in his background –"

"I'll let you know."

Mark gave a broader smile. "Thanks, Frank."

When Mark returned to Gull's Way, he bumped into Hardcastle just leaving the house.

"Hey, good timing," the judge said. "I have a few errands to run. Should be back in a couple hours."

"Okay, fine. Where's the Boy Wonder?" Mark asked.

Hardcastle frowned at him. "McCormick! I just don't know what your problem is … anyway, Matt went out a while ago. Said he wanted to visit some of the old stomping grounds."

_Yeah, right,_ Mark thought. _He's up to something, I just know it. _He suddenly realized that the judge was looking at him, apparently awaiting a comment, so he said lamely, "Oh, sounds like fun."

Hardcastle eyed him suspiciously for a moment but simply said, "Anyway, there are quite a few things to do around here, including cleaning the house. Place is getting messy. Keep busy while I'm out."

"Okay, okay!" Mark returned with an exaggerated sigh. "I was gonna dust and vacuum today anyway."

"Okay. See ya soon." And with that, Hardcastle was off.

Mark entered the house and grabbed some cleaning supplies, then stopped for a moment, thinking. With no one else at the estate, it was an ideal time to do a little snooping. With a grin he headed upstairs and made a beeline for the guest room that Matt was occupying. He made a cursory attempt to dust while really searching the room. And under the bed he found a brown briefcase. Curious, he dragged it out, setting it on the bed. It was locked, which Mark found interesting. After all, Matt was staying at a private estate; why would he need to hide and lock the briefcase?

He looked at the lock and grinned. Child's play. Within a couple minutes he had picked the lock, and he smiled when it gave a satisfying click as the tumblers unlatched. He stared a moment at the contents, his smile fading. There were several large white plastic bags of an unknown powdery substance nestled into the case, along with a sizeable wad of cash. And, even more frightening, a gun.

Drugs? Matt was into drugs? And quite deeply, it appeared. Mark felt a moment of sadness for the judge. This would be a painful blow to his memories of the guy.

Proof. He needed proof about this. He ran downstairs to the kitchen and grabbed a small plastic baggie. Just as he started back upstairs he heard a car door slam and saw through the window that Matt had returned. Dammit! He vaulted up the steps and swiftly opened one of the bags of white powder, scooping a small amount into the baggie and stuffing that in his pocket.

Just then he distantly heard the front door downstairs slam shut and Matt's voice calling, "Hey, Mr. H! I'm back. You here?"

Mark quickly placed the plastic bag back in the briefcase and closed it, sliding it back under the bed, then darted to the other side of the room. When Matt entered moments later, Mark was innocently and industriously feather dusting the maple dresser.

Matt abruptly halted as he entered the room, his eyes dark with anger. "What the hell are you doing in here?" he asked harshly.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Mark countered with a flourish of the feather duster. "I'm dusting!"

"I don't want you snooping in my room or anywhere near my things!" Matt snapped. "Now get out!"

Mark's eyes narrowed. "I wasn't snooping, I was cleaning. Ask the judge – he wanted me to clean up the house today. That includes the bedrooms. I just got started in here, and anyway, I have no interest in your things."

Matt drew closer. "I don't trust you," he hissed. "And I don't like you. You stay the hell away from me and my things. You've been warned."

Mark bit his tongue on the harsh comment he wanted to make and merely grabbed the vacuum cleaner and left the room. Matt watched him go suspiciously, then quickly closed the door and pulled the briefcase out from under the bed. Looked okay, but he pulled out his key and opened it to check on the contents. Again, everything looked okay, although … wait, was one of the drug bags not fully sealed? Maybe his imagination was running overtime, but it couldn't just be a coincidence that McCormick was in his room, could it? Did he suspect something, and had he opened the briefcase and seen the drugs? He couldn't take a chance … McCormick had been close, too close, to his secret. He'd have to take care of this. He gave a small smile. Yeah, he wouldn't mind taking care of the problem at all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Mark kept up his cleaning of the upstairs bedrooms and bathrooms for the next hour in the hopes that Matt would believe the reason for his being in his room. Hardcastle returned just as Mark was lugging the vacuum cleaner downstairs.

"Good to see you've got something done!" he teased.

Mark made a face. "Yeah, yeah, like all I ever do is just sit around and watch television! Anyway, upstairs is clean, except I couldn't finish Matt's room. He didn't want me in there." He stopped, not wanting to say more. He didn't want to say anything about the white powder until he could get it analyzed.

Hardcastle frowned. "Didn't want you in there? Why not?"

Mark shrugged. "He doesn't like me and doesn't want me around his stuff. It's not a problem, Judge. Please, let's just leave it alone. He'll be gone next week, and I can handle it."

"McCormick," Hardcastle growled. "I'm not gonna let him –"

Mark held up a hand. "Please, Judge. He's being a pain, I know, but he is your guest and he won't be here much longer. Let's just let it go for now."

Hardcastle gave him a long look. "Okay, but I don't like it."

"Thanks." Mark gave the judge a hopeful look. "Hey, it's a nice day. How about if we do some grilling for dinner and eat on the patio?"

Hardcastle smiled. "Sounds great. But I don't think we have any steaks in the house right now –"

"No problem, I'll just run out and pick some up," Mark interrupted eagerly. He had been looking for an excuse to drop off the powder with Frank. This was perfect.

"Hmm …" Hardcastle gave him another look. "You're not usually that eager to run errands or go shopping. Are you just trying to get out of cleaning?"

"Oh, no!" Mark protested, his lips twitching. "You know I just love to clean!"

Hardcastle tried to suppress his own smile. "Okay, sport, bring back some nice juicy steaks then. And some potatoes, too."

"On it, Kemosabe!" Mark replied with a laugh.

Mark made a quick run into town, first stopping by to see Frank, and was disappointed when he found he wasn't in his office. Mark left the baggie on his desk along with a brief note: _Frank, I found this among Matt's things. Could you get it analyzed quickly and let me know what you find? Thanks, Mark._

He then stopped at the store to pick up the steaks and some other items before heading back home. His thoughts kept going back to those bags of powder. He hoped he was wrong, but what else could it be but drugs? He hoped Frank could get back to him soon.

* * *

Matt looked out the bedroom window when he heard the distinctive roar of the Coyote and just caught a glimpse of it heading off the estate. Good, time to move. He quietly went downstairs and skirted by the den, hoping to avoid the Judge. No problem, he was on a phone call in the den, his back towards the door. Letting himself out the kitchen door, Matt then walked quickly over to the Gatehouse. He cautiously opened the front door and then swiftly entered. After glancing around, he focused on the small kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and smiled in satisfaction, pulling out a half-full carton of milk. Perfect. Quickly he withdrew a small bag from his pocket and emptied some powder into the milk. He slipped the bag back into his coat and returned the milk to the refrigerator. Problem solved.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Shortly after Mark returned to Gulls Way, he popped his head into the den, finding Hardcastle sorting through some files. "Hey, I'm back. I'm gonna do the laundry after I drop off a couple things in the Gatehouse. Steaks are in the refrigerator when you're ready to start grilling."

"Fine," Hardcastle replied. "And when are you gonna get to the hedges and plant those rose bushes?"

Mark rolled his eyes. "Tomorrow. I was planning to do them on Saturday and I was gonna work on the problem with the truck tomorrow but it's supposed to rain on Saturday, so I'll have switch that and do the hedges and rose bushes tomorrow instead."

"What's wrong with the truck?" Hardcastle asked, puzzled.

"There's a small clunking noise that the truck makes when you turn right."

Hardcastle frowned. "What clunking noise? I haven't heard anything!"

Mark laughed. "Yeah, well, if you weren't always talking when we're in the truck maybe you'd hear it!"

"Hey, wise guy, maybe if you actually listened to my words of wisdom –"

"Talking about how black-eyed peas are better than plain peas isn't exactly an enlightening discussion," Mark snorted.

"Ah, there's just no talking to you!" Hardcastle retorted, but he turned away so Mark wouldn't see his lips curving in amusement.

"_Anyway_, since I now have to do the hedges tomorrow, I thought I'd tackle the truck on Saturday morning, so don't plan on going anywhere unless you want to use the Vette."

"Saturday? Ahh, I don't think that will work. I was thinking of making it a fishing weekend up at Lake Sorenson."

Mark grinned. "That sounds better than working on the truck! We haven't been fishing in a while. I guess the truck can wait a little longer. I'll dig out the cooler tomorrow and run out and get some snacks to eat on the way. What time do you wanna leave Saturday morning … and don't tell me before dawn!"

Hardcastle shifted uncomfortably. "Umm … actually, I was thinking of just going up with Matt. He hasn't been fishing in a long time and I thought he'd enjoy it before heading back home and –"

"Right," Mark interrupted stonily. "Yeah, well, have a great time. Guess you will if I'm not getting in your way."

"McCormick, it's not –"

"Forget it, Judge. I'd better get back to my chores." Mark abruptly left the den, leaving the Judge to stifle the urge to yell after him. Hardcastle heard the kitchen door slam and watched Mark storm across the yard. He sat back in his chair thoughtfully. He actually wanted Mark to come, too, but he knew that he and Matt weren't really connecting – heck, they were barely able to talk civilly to one another – and he didn't want a tension-filled weekend. Not that Matt would be around after next week anyway, but he also wanted to see if he could work on Matt and turn around his opinion of McCormick. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. He'd make it up to Mark, maybe take him to one of the auto rallies that were coming up, or schedule a visit to Las Vegas.

Regretfully, he realized again that he was looking forward to Matt's departure. While it had been nice to see him again and revisit some old, very dear memories, he missed his usual routines and interactions with McCormick. Well, Matt would be gone shortly after the weekend and things would get back to usual. Hardcastle shrugged and picked up a file on his desk.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Friday morning dawned clear and bright, the deep blue sky unmarred by clouds, diamonds of dew sparkling on the grass. Mark woke to the sound of the basketball being pounded outside the Gatehouse and, with a groaning stretch, reluctantly dragged himself out of bed and into the bathroom. Five minutes later, a bit more alert and dressed in grey sweats and a cutoff shirt, he went outside to join Hardcastle who, surprisingly, was alone.

"What? No Matt?" Mark asked as he grabbed the basketball from Hardcastle and tossed it towards the basket, where it landed with a satisfying swish.

"Nah, he wanted to sleep in this morning," Hardcastle replied, snatching the ball back and shooting for the basket. The ball bounced off the rim and then dropped in. Mark's eyes gleamed as they began playing their usual rough and no-holds-barred style of basketball. Forty minutes later, both of them panting and a little bruised but happy, they finished their game.

As the Judge headed back to the main house, Mark returned to the Gatehouse for a quick shower (well, all his showers there were quick since the hot water heater never worked well and provided lukewarm water at best). Because he had to work on the hedges, he dressed in another pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt. He didn't want to have to sit through another awkward and uncomfortable breakfast with Matt, so he pulled out a box of cereal and add generously dumped some in a bowl. Opening the refrigerator, he grabbed the milk carton and poured it liberally over the cereal. After rummaging for a spoon, he took a couple quick mouthfuls of cereal.

As he headed to the sofa, bowl in hand, he tripped over his sneakers, which he'd kicked off when he entered the Gatehouse. The bowl flew out of his hand, shattering as it hit the floor, spilling cereal and milk all over.

"Dammit!" Mark yelled. He hoped the rest of the day wouldn't go this way. He took a fistful of paper towels and started cleaning up the mess. Standing to throw them out, he suddenly felt very dizzy and breathless. He blinked hard, realizing his eyesight was blurry. It also felt like his heart was racing. He staggered toward the phone, barely managing to hold it in his hand.

He almost wept when he heard a gruff, "Hardcastle," and choked out, "J-Judge … hel—" before he dropped the phone, collapsing to the floor. Distantly he heard the judge's hoarse voice on the phone yelling, "McCormick? McCormick! What's wrong? I'm coming …"

Mark wasn't conscious when a frantic Hardcastle arrived a couple minutes later, alarmed at finding Mark lying motionless on the floor among the smashed remains of a bowl of what looked like cereal and milk. _What the hell happened?_ Hardcastle wondered. _He seemed fine half an hour ago when we were playing ball_. The jurist sank to the floor, placing a hand on Mark's chest, relieved to find him breathing, but distressed by his quick, panting breaths.

He turned to Matt, who had followed him over, and demanded, "Call 911! Hurry!"

Matt picked up the phone from the floor, barely suppressing a smile, and did so.

Hardcastle pressed his fingers against Mark's throat, disturbed to find his pulse bounding wildly. After a quick exam he couldn't find any injuries or determine why Mark was on the floor. He grabbed a quilt from the sofa and gently covered the ex-con. He smoothed his curly hair and murmured to the unconscious man, "It'll be okay, kiddo. You'll be fine. I'm here. Just hang in there, okay?"

The emergency squad arrived shortly and as the paramedics assessed Mark, Hardcastle turned to Matt. "I'll be going in with him. If you wanna come, you'll need to drive."

Matt shook his head. "I think I'd just be in the way, Mr. H. But you can call me later if you want me to bring you back. I'm sorry about your … ah, associate. Hope he's better soon." _He won't be if he got a good helping of the tainted milk!_

Hardcastle nodded distractedly. He closely watched the paramedics, ascertaining by their calm but rapid actions that McCormick was in serious condition. He listened with growing concern as one paramedic reported over his biophone, "Victim is a male about 30 years of age presenting with severe tachycardia. No history of heart disease. He is unresponsive, breathing on his own. Vitals are BP 160/110, pulse 155, respirations 28. Some mild cyanosis on the fingertips."

After a few moments the paramedic nodded and showed his notes to the other paramedic, both quickly moving to give Mark oxygen and establish an IV. When the needle was inserted Hardcastle winced and patted Mark's arm soothingly, although he never reacted.

One of the paramedics informed him that they would be transporting Mark shortly after they rechecked his vitals and packaged him up on the gurney, and Milt used that time to make a quick call to Charlie Friedman, asking him to meet them at the hospital and oversee Mark's treatment if possible.

The ambulance ride was uneventful, although to Hardcastle it took way too long. Gazing down at Mark's pale face, he wondered what had gone wrong. The paramedic who sat on the bench across from Mark seemed consummately professional but very concerned, constantly checking his heart and his blood pressure and giving terse updates to the doctor over the biophone.

Charlie was waiting for them when they arrived at the hospital. He took a quick look at Mark before gently shoving Hardcastle towards the waiting area with a murmured, "I'll let you know as soon as I can," and then he disappeared into the treatment room.

Hardcastle sat for a moment, then got up and paced restlessly as the minutes dragged by, finally again sinking back down onto a chair. What had happened? Had McCormick gotten injured when they were playing basketball, maybe getting hit too hard in the chest or stomach and suffering some internal damage? God, if it was his fault that McCormick was in the hospital … Hardcastle shook his head and ran a trembling hand through his hair. He sat back and closed his eyes, trying to breathe deeply. The sounds of the hospital faded away …

_The treatment door opened and Hardcastle jumped up as Charlie slowly approached him, his face sympathetic and sad. Hardcastle gasped and held up a hand as if to ward off what he was about to hear. "McCormick? Is he okay?"_

_Charlie sighed and gently pushed the judge down to a chair and then sat next to him. "I'm sorry, Milt," he said softly. "We tried hard, but we couldn't get him stabilized. He went into cardiac arrest, and we couldn't bring him back."_

_"No!" Hardcastle yelled. "No, you have to try again! You know how stubborn he is – he's just playing around. I have to see him! He can't be … be …"_

_Charlie laid a comforting hand on his arm. "I know. It's hard to believe, and I'm sorry."_

_Hardcastle felt himself sway dizzily and felt Charlie shake his shoulder, saying sharply, "Milt? Are you alright? Milt? Milt!"_

"Milt!" With a startled grunt, Hardcastle's eyes flew open and he saw Charlie leaning over him, shaking his shoulder, his eyes concerned.

"Charlie!" The judge shot to his feet, looking anxiously at the doctor. It had just been a dream, right? "How's McCormick?"

"First, are you okay? You look a little shocky there," Charlie said.

Hardcastle waved his hand impatiently. "I'm fine, guess I just dozed off for a minute there." He stared at Charlie, trying to read something in his face, and demanded, "Well, how is he? Is he okay? Can I see him?"

Charlie gripped his old friend's arm and gently pushed him onto the chair, sinking into one next to him, a move so like his dream that Hardcastle felt his heart accelerate and almost missed the doctor's words. "He's okay and stabilizing. When he arrived his heart rate was very high, and he was hypertensive. Now his heart rate is slowing down and his blood pressure is dropping. Breathing is better, too. Unless something unforeseen happens, I think I may be able to release him tomorrow morning. I just want to give time for him to recover and keep him under observation a bit longer. I expect he'll wake up shortly."

Hardcastle drew a ragged breath. "Thank god. What the hell happened?"

Charlie shook his head. "Don't know for sure. I sent his blood out for tox screens, but it looks to me like it was a drug overdose."

Hardcastle stared at him. "You're crazy! Mark doesn't do drugs!"

Charlie shrugged. "Nevertheless, that's what it looks like. I should know something soon." He frowned. "If it WAS a drug, it was very strong. I'm guessing he didn't get a big dose, or given how his heart reacted, he would have been gone within minutes. He was lucky he wasn't alone at the estate when this happened."

He stopped, seeing the alarmed look on Hardcastle's ashen face, and smiled reassuringly. "He's okay, Milt. Really." He patted Hardcastle's arm and stood. "I'll let you know as soon as I hear from the lab. In the meantime, Mark will be moved into a room shortly and you'll be able to see him then."

* * *

Meanwhile, back at the estate, Matt emptied the milk carton, rinsing it thoroughly before throwing it out. No sense in leaving proof around. He grabbed a beer and wandered outside to sit on a lounge chair by the pool, enjoying the quiet beauty around him. He began to practice his words of condolence to the judge when Hardcastle informed him of the sad news that McCormick didn't make it. He would generously offer to stay here with Hardcastle, helping him through the tough time, showing how invaluable he was and how much he belonged here. Once he got established here, he'd have access to lots of money and a great lifestyle – I mean, how could the old judge help but want to share with his dead son's former best friend? Matt smiled in satisfaction and took a long draught of beer. He could give up the drug trade and lead a respectable and prosperous and carefree life. Yeah, things were looking good.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Mark awoke slowly, becoming painfully aware that his head was pounding and he felt sore all over. The irritating beeping noise of a heart monitor and the antiseptic smell that told him that he was in a hospital. Giving a low groan, he struggled to open his eyes, to find the Judge sitting close to the bed, his anxious blue eyes staring at him.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty, it's about time you woke up," Hardcastle greeted him gruffly, but the worried look on his tired face belied the jibe.

"Ooh, not so loud!" Mark winced, raising a hand to his head. He blinked hard, sharper focus finally coming. "Hi Judge," he said hoarsely.

"Hi yourself," Hardcastle returned. "How are you feeling?"

Mark wrinkled his nose. "Uh … okay but been better. Have a monster headache and feel real tired. What happened?" 

"What do you remember?" Hardcastle countered.

Mark closed his eyes, trying to think beyond the distracting headache. "Umm … we played some basketball, and …" he drifted off.

"And?" Hardcastle prompted, gently shaking his arm.

Mark shrugged, yawning. "And, uh … I took a shower and got some breakfast. Managed to spill it all over after only a couple bites. Then I started to feel dizzy and … I called you?"

Hardcastle nodded grimly. "Yeah, you did. I found you on the floor, unconscious."

"I don't …" Mark trailed off, feeling himself getting a little agitated. He had no idea why he was in the hospital. "What happened?" he asked, breathing more rapidly. The judge could see the heart monitor reflecting a quickly climbing heart rhythm.

"Hey, settle down, you're okay!" Hardcastle admonished, laying a calming hand on Mark's arm. Once satisfied that Mark was resting again, he continued, "It appears you had a drug overdose."

"A – what? Drug overdose? How?" Mark exclaimed on a rising note of panic.

"Kiddo, calm down! You're okay. We don't know what happened yet, but we will. Charlie said you'll be fine as soon as the drug is out of your system. You should be outta here tomorrow morning."

Mark opened his mouth to reply when a nurse entered the room, eying the heart monitor. "Everything okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, sure," Mark replied with a small grin.

"Do you need something for pain?" When he hesitantly nodded, she checked the chart, then said, "You're due for some meds shortly. If you can wait a little longer …"

"No problem," Mark assured her.

"Here, let me just check you out quickly." She efficiently took his temperature and blood pressure, then smiled. "Everything looks fine, but," she gave Hardcastle a pointed look, "he needs to rest and not get upset."

"Yes, ma'am," Hardcastle said meekly. She gave another smile and left the room.

Mark looked at him with troubled eyes. "Judge, you have to know I would never –"

Hardcastle held up a hand to forestall him. "No need to finish that sentence, kiddo – I already know you don't do drugs."

Mark visibly relaxed. "Okay. But I can't imagine how … we have to find out what happened."

Hardcastle nodded. "And we will. But right now, all YOU need to do is get some rest so you can get out of here." He regarded his young partner, who was blinking slower and looking a little dazed. "Get some sleep. I'm gonna get some coffee, but then I'll be right back."

"Okay," Mark agreed, burrowing a little more under the covers. Hardcastle surreptitiously pulled up the blanket a bit and tucked it more warmly around Mark, who gave a drowsy smile and a soft, "Thanks," before drifting off to sleep. The judge eyed him for a moment before resting his hand briefly on the curly head and giving a gentle pat, thankful that he was going to fully recover.

Hardcastle headed for the cafeteria and picked up a badly needed cup of coffee, then remembered he should call Matt. He headed for a payphone and dialed home.

Matt quickly picked up and immediately said, "Hey, Mr. H. Sorry about your employee. I can stay with you to help out through this tough time …"

Hardcastle stared at the phone, puzzled. "Sorry about what?"

"Umm, didn't he … die?"

"No, thank god! Fortunately he's gonna be okay. Should be home tomorrow."

Matt's eyes widened in shock, and he was glad Hardcastle could not see him over the phone. "Oh, I thought … uh, that's great." _What went wrong?_ he thought furiously. "So what happened?"

For some reason Hardcastle hesitated, unwilling to disclose anything. "Oh, looks like something didn't agree with him," he answered evasively. "The kid eats anything and everything, so I guess it shouldn't be too surprising." He sighed, then said, "Look, I'm sorry, but we're gonna have to call off our fishing trip this weekend. I don't want to leave McCormick home alone while he's recovering."

"Oh, sure. I understand. Uh, do you need a ride home?"

"Nah, I'm gonna stay here with him, at least for a while. Hope you can keep yourself busy in the meantime."

"Yeah, no problem. I was going to try to meet up with a couple old friends anyway. Well, okay, let me know if you need anything."

"Thanks, Matt," Hardcastle replied simply.

Matt sat frozen for a few moments after hanging up, thinking feverishly. Damn ex-con should be dead. Then he remembered the remains of a mess of cereal and milk in the Gatehouse, and he realized that he probably dropped the bowl before eating enough of it. Stupid luck. He'd have to think up another plan to get rid of McCormick.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

After a thankfully uneventful night, the next morning Hardcastle brought a recovered Mark back to Gulls Way. He tried to get Mark to lie down for a bit, but Mark insisted that he felt fine and just wanted to get back to normal, eager to start working on figuring out how he could have had drugs in his system. They settled in the den, Mark ensconced comfortably on the leather sofa, and Hardcastle at his desk.

"Okay, McCormick, let's see if we can determine where the drug came from and how you happened to get exposed to it," Hardcastle began. "Wait a minute …" he scowled, fixing Mark with a stern look. "This doesn't have anything to do with that new drug that Frank talked to us about, does it? You didn't go off and try to do something about that on your own, did you?"

Mark eyed the judge a little warily, realizing he would have to reveal his meeting with Frank. "Judge, I think I should tell you –"

The phone rang, and Hardcastle picked it up, noting with interest that Mark was suddenly on alert. "Oh, hi, Frank. We just got home. Yeah, he's fine. We were just starting to talk about what happened. Did you check on – what? Uhh, sure, hold on a sec." He handed the phone to Mark, frowning slightly, his eyes questioning. "Frank says he wants to talk to you."

"Oh, uh … thanks," Mark said, hastily grabbing the phone and turning slightly away from the judge. "Yeah, Frank? What's up?"

"First, is Hollins at the estate now?"

"Yeah. Did you find out something?"

"It's not good, Mark," Frank replied gravely. "Just as you thought, Hollins has been in prison. He served time in New York for 16 months for drug trafficking, then did some time at Dade Correctional Facility in Florida for various offenses, including drugs and possession of a firearm."

"Oh, wow," Mark said quietly. He heard the Judge stir restlessly behind the desk and shot him a somber look.

"And it gets worse," Frank continued. "That powder you dropped off for me to have analyzed? It's that new drug I mentioned to you and Milt a few days ago. But I think Milt needs to hear the next part too."

"Aww man …" Mark gave a deep sigh, then said, "I'm gonna put you on speaker, Frank."

Hardcastle obligingly pressed the speaker button, still mystified, looking at Mark suspiciously. "Frank? What's going on?"

"Milt, I just told Mark that something that he dropped off to me for analysis is that new street drug I told you about a few days ago."

Hardcastle stared at Mark, who now stood, unmoving, by the desk. "He dropped off a drug sample?" He gave Mark a meaningful look that clearly said, _We need to have a serious discussion_, but only said out loud to him, "Where did you get it?"

Mark opened his mouth, but Frank interrupted before he could say anything. "Milt, wait. He can tell you that in a minute. First Mark needs to know that you provided me with a blood sample from his hospital stay so we could test what he was drugged with."

"You had my blood tested?" Mark asked with a frown at the judge.

"Guys," Frank broke though again, "What you both need to know is that the blood sample showed the same drug. Mark was poisoned with the new drug."

Mark paled and swayed a little, his eyes widening, instantly realizing that there was only one way that could have happened. Hardcastle looked at him in alarm, half-rising from his chair. "Kiddo, are you okay?"

Mark shook himself. "Yeah … yeah." He drew a deep breath, steeling himself. "Frank? If that's true, then I think that means that Matt tried to … to …"

"Yes, it looks like attempted murder," Frank finished for him.

Hardcastle sank back in his chair, shocked. "Wait! Are you saying that Matt … he drugged McCormick? He tried to kill him? Why?"

Mark bit his lip as Frank's voice floated over the phone, saying, "Tell him, Mark." Swallowing hard, he said quietly, "I had Frank check into Matt's past. Turns out he spent some time in prison – well, two, actually – for drugs. And the drug sample I gave to Frank for testing came from a briefcase I found in his room. He has several bags of it." As Hardcastle's mouth opened, Mark added hastily, "I'm so sorry, Judge! I didn't want to pry, but something felt really wrong. I didn't want to be right about this. I'm sorry …"

Hardcastle sat silently for a few moments. He didn't know which emotion was foremost right now – anger at all the secrets, sorrow and shock in learning about Matt's past, or fear at the threat to Mark. But clearly now was not the time to sort this out. He blew out a steadying breath. "I'm sorry too, kiddo. I wish you'd told me your suspicions earlier."

"I didn't think you'd believe me," Mark said softly.

"Maybe not, at least at first," Hardcastle admitted. "But … well, we can discuss this more later. So you're saying Matt slipped you the drug somehow? But why would he try to kill you?"

Mark shrugged. "I don't know. I guess somehow he figured out I took a sample of the drug or saw something that made him suspicious. But I can't think of any other source for the drug I was poisoned with."

Hardcastle gave a gusty exhale and rubbed his eyes wearily. "Frank? What do we do next?"

"Just hang tight. I just picked up the arrest warrant and will be at Gulls Way shortly," Frank informed them. He paused, then added sternly, "Do NOT try to approach Hollins about this or do anything until I get there! Is that clear?"

"Okay, Frank, we'll keep quiet until you get here," Hardcastle promised, then hung up the phone.

Neither of them could see the figure lurking just outside the door …


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Matt ran down the stairs lightly, arriving at the den. Just as he was about to enter, he heard Mark say, "Oh man … I'm gonna put you on speaker, Frank." Curious, he stood beyond the door out of sight, listening with growing concern and rage to the conversation. Having heard that the police would shortly be on their way, he slipped back upstairs to his room. Pulling out the briefcase, he opened it and removed the gun and slipped it in his pocket. Carrying the briefcase downstairs, he silently placed it by the front door, then crept over to the office. The Judge and Mark were talking in low, intense voices, although Matt couldn't make out what they were saying.

He figured his best option was to just drive away and disappear as quickly as possible, so he headed for the front door again. Just as he was reaching for the doorknob, he saw Mark exit the den from the corner of his eye.

Mark started, surprised, at the sight of Matt in the foyer. "Hey, Matt!" he called, heading towards him.

Matt pulled out the gun and waved it menacingly. Mark skidded to a stop, frozen.

"Don't follow me!" Matt warned fiercely, picking up the briefcase. He opened the door, and Mark moved as if to stop him. Matt quickly turned and fired, then fled out the door. Mark flinched as a bullet buried itself in the wall just inches from his left shoulder. He immediately took off after Matt, hearing Hardcastle yelling behind him, "McCormick! Wait –"

"Oh no you don't," Mark muttered to himself, running outside just in time to see Matt fling his briefcase inside his rental car and take off. Mark raced over to the Coyote and roared after him. Hardcastle gave a heartfelt "Dammit!" and ran for the truck.

It didn't take long for Mark to catch up to Matt; the Coyote was a much faster and more agile car than the sedan rental. Mark got ahead of Matt and slewed to a stop, forcing Matt to swerve to avoid him and spin out wildly into the dirt shoulder of the road. Mark leaped out of the Coyote and ran over to the car, yanking Matt out roughly, and reached for the gun that Matt still held in his hand.

Matt staggered as he was dragged out of the car, then suddenly raised his head and threw it back hard, head butting Mark in the face. Mark loosened his grip with a gasp of pain, his eyes tearing and his nose immediately dripping blood.

Matt swung the gun around at Mark, but Mark tackled him and they both landed hard on the ground and began wrestling for the gun. A report sounded and Mark gave a hiss as the gun went off, grazing his left arm in a blazing trail of pain, the gun skittering a few feet away as it slipped from both of their grasps. Matt scrambled to grab it, and Mark held on grimly to him as Matt's fingers brushed the gun. With an enraged curse Matt punched Mark on his injured arm, who fell back with a cry as a bolt of pain shot up his arm.

The Judge's truck suddenly skidded to a stop near them. Matt, breathing heavily, grabbed the gun and clambered to his feet. He aimed it at Hardcastle, who was clutching his shotgun as he exited the truck.

Hardcastle stopped abruptly, his eyes darting briefly over to Mark, who was slowly pushing himself to his feet, before focusing his gaze on Matt.

"Drop the gun!" Matt ordered. "Now!"

"Matt, don't do this. We can work things out –" Hardcastle began.

Matt gave a harsh laugh. "No, we really can't. I'm not going back to prison."

"Matt –"

"Don't make me shoot you, Mr. H! Now put the gun down!"

"Don't do it, Judge," Mark urged, staring at Matt defiantly and looking surprisingly menacing despite his bruised and bloody face and bleeding arm.

Matt regarded him with active dislike. "Now YOU would be a pleasure to shoot," he snapped, swinging the gun back to Mark.

"No, wait! Here, I'm putting it down." Slowly Hardcastle placed the shotgun on the ground, and Matt said, "Okay, now go stand by your ex-con. I'm taking the truck and getting out of here."

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Matt," Hardcastle said, edging a little closer.

Matt's eyes widened as they all heard the sound of approaching sirens. "Shit!" he exclaimed, his face reddening as he realized his time was running out for a quick escape. Mark could see the moment Matt decided that he had nothing to lose and intended to kill them both. He suddenly launched himself at Matt and the two of them tumbled to the ground, wrestling for control of the gun as it was held dangerously between them. 

Hardcastle reached down try to pull Matt off of Mark and separate them, when there was suddenly a muffled bang, the unmistakable report of a discharged gun. He stared in fear as both men abruptly went still, and a growing puddle of blood ominously began spreading in the dirt underneath them both …


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

"McCormick!" Hardcastle cried, reaching forward to separate the men. Matt fell flaccidly off of Mark, his shirt covered in blood. Still alive but unconscious and clearly badly injured, the bullet having struck him in the chest, he didn't appear to be a threat for the moment. Hardcastle quickly pushed away the gun out of reach, then turned to Mark, who too was covered in blood. "C'mon, kid, talk to me!" he pleaded as he rapidly assessed him.

Mark slowly stirred with a groan. "Judge?" he said hoarsely, struggling to sit up.

"Yeah, kiddo, it's me. No, just lay there, don't move."

"Ooh … Hope you got the number of the truck that hit me," Mark rasped, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

"Ssh, you're okay," Hardcastle soothed. "Just be quiet and let me check you out."

"Matt!" Mark eyes suddenly flew open in alarm, and he tried to sit up as he looked around frantically.

Hardcastle pressed him back gently but firmly. "He's over there, but he's not going to hurt you or get away. Relax."

Mark shook his curly head, his eyes becoming clearer. "I'm okay, Judge," he murmured, pushing again to sit up. "It's just my arm." He looked down at himself and the blood that covered his shirt. "I think most of this is from him."

"Hmmm," Hardcastle snorted, but he allowed Mark to sit up slowly. "Your nose is bleeding," he observed gruffly, handing him a handkerchief.

"Thanks. He head butted me," Mark said wearily, gingerly pressing the handkerchief to his nose. Now that the adrenaline rush was over, the bruises were really throbbing and his arm burned fiercely.

"Well, you're a sorry sight," Hardcastle sighed. Still, he was thankful the damage wasn't worse. He examined the nasty gash on Mark's arm where the bullet had ploughed through, grazing his skin, and winced. "Bet that hurts."

"Like hell," Mark agreed with a grimace. "What –" He stopped when he saw Frank's car, followed by a squad car, suddenly appear on the scene, screeching to a stop near them. Frank hurriedly exited his car and ran over to them.

"What happened?" he demanded. "Are you two alright?"

"We're okay," Hardcastle answered. "McCormick is a little beat up but he'll be fine. You'd better call an ambulance for Matt, though."

Frank told one of the cops to request an ambulance while the other watched Hollins. He then turned to Hardcastle and Mark and gave them a quelling look. "I thought I told you to wait until we arrived before approaching Hollins."

"Hey, we didn't start this!" Mark protested. "He suddenly took off after firing a shot at me."

Hardcastle placed a calming hand on his shoulder. "Easy, McCormick. Just sit quietly until the ambulance gets here … and Frank, he's right." He went on to briefly explain how things unfolded.

Frank slanted Mark a look. "You okay if Milt takes you in to the hospital, or do you want me to call for another ambulance? I don't really want you to ride in with Hollins."

Mark shook his head. "I don't need to –"

"You're going," Hardcastle interrupted firmly. "That arm needs to be stitched, and you took quite a knock on the head. It's okay, Frank, I'll take him."

Frank nodded, his lips twitching as he viewed a pouting Mark. "Okay, then I'll finish up things here and will call you later. I'll be in touch tomorrow to get formal statements from both of you."

"Sounds good," Hardcastle replied, helping Mark to stand and nudging him towards the truck.

"Oh, no, I'm not leaving the Coyote sitting here on the side of the road!" Mark protested, refusing to move from the spot. He swayed slightly, and the judge steadied him, rolling his eyes with a slight shake of his head.

"Fine," Hardcastle sighed. "Well take the Coyote, but I'm driving. Frank, can you get someone to drive the truck back to the estate?"

"Sure, no problem, Milt," Frank replied, holding out his hand for the key. 

"Thanks. Okay, hotshot, let's get moving," Hardcastle said, pointing to the Coyote.

Frank smiled as he heard Mark whine, "Aww, Judge, we don't have to go to the hospital," and Hardcastle's gruff, "Do you ALWAYS have to give me a hard time? I don't know why you can't just …"

Yep, seemed like everything was okay again with the Lone Ranger and Tonto.


	13. Chapter 13

**Epilogue**

The next day, things were back to normal at the estate. Frank had informed them that Matt, though critically wounded, was expected to recover, and was facing some serious prison time. The task force was already looking at Matt's recent actions and contacts to discover more about the drug network and hopefully bring it down.

Mark, his left arm heavily bandaged and in a sling and sporting two bruised eyes and a swollen nose, breezed into the den, about to complain that he shouldn't have to be the one to make lunch since he was injured (fully intending to milk this for all it was worth, just to see how much of a rise he could get out of the judge). But he slowed as he entered the room, his mouth abruptly closing, as he observed Hardcastle sitting unmoving at his desk, gazing pensively outside. Mark quietly sank onto a chair, regarding him sadly.

"Judge, I'm sorry the way everything happened," Mark finally said softly.

Hardcastle gave a deep sigh, staring out the window at the verdant expanse of lawn, although Mark suspected he wasn't really seeing it, before responding quietly, "Yeah, kiddo, I'm sorry how it turned out, too."

Mark eyed him anxiously. "I know I went behind your back to Frank, but I –"

Hardcastle held up a hand. "I understand," he said, adding with a bleak smile, "Turns out you were right, too."

They were silent for a few moments, then Mark said hesitantly, "You know, you weren't entirely wrong, either. From what you told me, Matt wasn't all bad, at least in the beginning. He wouldn't have been Tommy's friend for so long if he wasn't a good person back then. He just had some tough breaks and didn't handle them well." He paused, adding more quietly, "I hope … I hope this doesn't taint your memories. I know how important Matt was to you and your memories of Tommy, and how much you enjoyed rehashing old times."

Hardcastle's pale blue eyes warmed as he refocused his gaze on Mark with a slow shake of his head. He'd never really understand how this kid could be so forgiving, so empathetic. But he could marvel at how lucky he was to have McCormick in his life. He chose his words carefully.

"No, I'll always have happy memories of Tommy's earlier days. You know, it's great to reminisce about old times, but you can't spend your time there. Building new memories and experiences is just as satisfying, especially when it's with someone you're proud and very lucky to have in your life." He regarded Mark with a fond smile. "And I think I can say that the future is looking pretty bright since I have the right person by my side."

Mark flushed a little but met his gaze firmly. "Looks like we'll both be making some great new memories, then."

Hardcastle grinned. "Now yer cookin'!"

The End

* * *

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the ride and feel that the story represented the characters well. Thanks for reading!


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